


What Are My Words Worth?

by silversky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20 compliant only in a passing reference to Jack fixing Heaven, Character Study, Deaf Character, Eileen-centric, F/M, Post-Canon, that's happening in the background too, there isn't even the implication of destiel here but just know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversky/pseuds/silversky
Summary: Any hunter worth their salt knows death is always around the corner. Eileen thinks it's a little ridiculous so many are convinced their hearing is what's saved them so far.
Relationships: Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	What Are My Words Worth?

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this as my final project for my Disability, Gender, & Sexuality course, so it is heavily focused on the intersections of those aspects of Eileen's identity. Also, big caveat that I am not myself Deaf--this is based on information from two disability studies courses and my own research, but I very easily may have portrayed something incorrectly. The intent here is to give depth to Eileen as a Deaf woman, so if I have messed up on something you know about please let me know.

Most people Eileen meets, people who know her real job, think she has a death wish. Either that or she's a naive, foolhardy idiot. What other explanation is there, they whisper to each other in supposed, ignorant privacy across motel lobbies and noisy bars and two feet from her damn face, for someone as obviously, horribly vulnerable as her to wake up every day and decide to hunt monsters.

As if throwing yourself against murderous creatures is only dangerous when a Deaf woman does it. As if half the hunters Eileen's known haven't already died from drunken grief and their own suicidal ideation, and the other half aren't one misstep from biting the dust too. Any hunter worth their salt knows death is always around the corner. She thinks it's a little ridiculous so many are convinced their hearing is what's saved them so far. Although sometimes, after dealing with one too many wandering hands from men with a chewed-up arm or cloudy eye, she wonders which is the bigger obstacle for finding respect: her ears or her tits.

There’s something so special about watching a man twice her age blow kisses after telling his buddies he wagers she won’t make it past her next hunt.

Some hunters (the ones she tries to avoid), buy into the whole hero mythos. They like to see themselves as the ultimate warriors in a battle of brawn against the horrors of the night, without care for the nuances of why or for whom—more hunting things, less saving people. The way Eileen was taught though, the lens she requires before she trusts someone as backup, is as more of a detective. Her quick mind, visual acuity, and the smatterings of luck necessary for any hunter, are how she’s managed to make it in an already deadly profession for almost two decades. She knows her limits, and her strengths; what will get her killed if she’s not careful, and what could be her key to solving a case.

Invisible creatures are an absolute hard no. Even if she weren’t still recovering from the trauma of being chased down and torn apart by something she couldn’t see, Eileen would know better than to risk setting herself at such a disadvantage. The few times she’s identified whatever monster she’s tracking as something able to slip from sight, she’s reached out to her few contacts—even fewer since she came to the States, although Sam’s helped with that—and organized a replacement. Most hunters aren’t too reluctant to take over a hunt once they learn she’s already done the legwork and all that’s left is the actual kill.

Still, Eileen figured out long ago how to turn being a Deaf woman into far more of an asset than many would assume possible. She’s perfected slipping into the background of places she’s technically not supposed to be, letting the image of a petite, Deaf secretary or maid turn her into harmless wallpaper. People are far too willing to ignore her the moment they hear her speak or notice she can’t hear them; it’s their own fault for not remembering she’s around when they leave out classified papers to be rifled through. Or discuss restricted information on a recent death behind clear glass windows. Or decide a ‘pretty thing’ like her would be so impressed by their expensive collection of magical artifacts she wouldn’t possibly slip any into her pocket. Lip-reading might not be as easy as it looks in the movies—it’s taken years of dedicated effort and a long-practiced attention to detail for Eileen to become as good as she is, and she still gets a headache if she tries for too long—but she’s learned more by sitting, smiling, and staring right at people than most of her contemporaries would be willing to believe.

Not that knowing what strings to pull makes needing to yank them any easier. Constantly compressing herself into strangers’ agreeable stereotypes and convincing anyone she actually cares about that she’s not defective or weak or too much trouble to bother with…well, Eileen sometimes thinks it’s a miracle she turned out as well-adjusted as she has. Getting to take out her aggression on demons and vamps probably helps, but the frustration gnaws at her. The loneliness stings. Every so often, late at night in shitty motel rooms in the middle of nowhere, she signs along with ASL tutorials and pretends she’s having a real conversation.

It’s never enough.

* * *

“So, get this,” Sam says to her from across their meal of egg-white omelettes and fruit salad; Dean and Cas are off on a hunt and Jack is spending the week trying to fix a few more things in Heaven (because he’s apparently God now, which Eileen is far past trying to figure out), so it’s just the two of them, and Sam’s relentless commitment to healthy eating, this morning. The Bunker’s haphazardly spartan decorating style makes the kitchen look like a utilitarian shell in her opinion, all grey cement and steel, but Sam’s presence brings it halfway to homey. “I was wondering…”

He trails off, but Eileen’s busy chewing and Sam’s too focused on whatever’s on his laptop to see any signing, so she has to wait for him to continue.

“It’s just, the Bunker has a lot of room. Way more than four people used to live here at one point. And there’s so much lore stored here too, so many specialty weapons. Besides, it technically belongs just as much to you as us. Um.”

"Sam.” He’s still not looking at her, but Eileen doesn’t think it’s just his laptop that’s keeping him away. The tips of his ears are pink. She suppresses a grin. “Going out on a limb, are you asking me to move in?”

“I know it’s soon,” he says, running a hand through his mass of hair. It hasn’t dried yet from his post-run shower and he makes a face. “But I made a list of reasons, pros and cons. First is obviously that there’s no rent—”

“ _Sam_ ,” she repeats, trying to emphasize the word like she was taught. He finally stops and catches her gaze. Eileen continues, relieved she can tell him in multiple languages now. “It’s ok. I’m visiting more and more often lately.”

“That was point number three.”

God her boyfriend’s a nerd. “What’s point number eleven?” She’s sure he has one and it’s fun to indulge him.

“Uh, that one’s having the rest of us around as hunting partners, so you’re not always needing to handle everything alone when a case comes up.”

That stops the warm and fuzzies in their tracks. This better not be what she thinks it is. “Oh?” she replies, for once thankful her voice doesn’t often communicate her emotions.

“Yeah,” Sam continues, his guileless smile making clear her unease has gone over his head. “I know it’s been hard for you to find other hunters you trust, but it’s far safer when there’s other folks around. Dean and I have tons of experience, we can help you out.”

“Maybe I like hunting alone.” Maybe Sam will take his foot out of his mouth and stop implying she needs his protection.

“But you don’t need to anymore.” Sam waves a hand dismissively, then honest to God starts to turn away from her to reach in the duffel bag he’d earlier shoved beneath his chair. “That reminds me, I wanted to—”

His mouth no longer visible, Eileen glares as Sam likely blathers away while he roots around; seeing him trying to maintain his balance on the small stool would be funny, if she weren’t fighting to urge to kick him. She doesn’t want to be angry. She really doesn’t. There’s no point in losing her temper every time someone forgets that even though she can speak and read lips, fake holding a conversation just like ‘normal’ people, she’s _still Deaf_ —she’d never get anything done.

The misstep burns though. Sam had tried so hard when they first met, brushing up on his long unused ASL basics and finding resources on ISL as well when he’d learned that’s what she’d grown up using. He’d been one of her few hearing friends who understood that lip-reading relied just as much on context clues and quick thinking as actually deciphering minute lip movements, making an effort to be clear and not judging misunderstandings. Eileen had decided to restart their relationship, even after all her misgivings about manipulation and the nature of how they’d become involved, because he’d seemed so different. Still, it’s hard to maintain her forced attitude of easy-going tolerance when someone she so badly wants to trust falls into the same, thoughtless patterns as everyone else. She’s tired of pretending to be fine, when even the people she loves seesaw between forgetting she has a disability and remembering, only to assume it makes her less capable than them.

Sam’s face quickly falls when he looks back up, phone in hand. “You’re upset,” he says, dropping the device to model her usual practice of signing out the words simultaneously.

“No shit,” she signs back, lips shut tight. She’s being petty. She doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry about forgetting. Speaking where you can’t see.” His signs are still clumsy, but even through her anger Eileen can’t help but tell he’s been practicing outside of their time together.

“We’ve talked about this. A lot.” They have. Eileen had tried to make it clear, even before they started dating, how communication could function between them. This isn’t the first time he’s slipped up.

Sam sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I know.”

“And you’re being overprotective. You think I can’t handle myself?”

At that Sam grimaces. “Just because I’m worried about my girlfriend dying, _again_ , I’m overprotective?”

She laughs. “You’re really not in any position to judge me on that count.”

“Yes, but—,” he sputters.

“I don’t need you to take care of me.” Eileen lays out each sign slowly; speaking still feels like giving in right now, but it’s important he understands exactly what she means. “I’m not helpless. You should know me better than that.”

After a long moment of what’s clearly Sam thinking over his words—the furrow between his brows is distinctive—he responds, broad hands fumbling through the motions as he tries to use her language. “Can I type this out? I don’t have the vocabulary.”

She nods, taking the extra time to finish up her breakfast. It’s gone lukewarm and she feels the anger begin to drift away into melancholy. This isn’t how Eileen had hoped their morning would go.

Eventually, Sam turns his laptop to her and waits, anxious puppy dog face and all. It’s hard not to be amused by his ability to look so small, despite being so large, and Eileen grants him a small smile before reading to see if he deserves it yet. 

_First of all, I’m sorry for not paying enough attention to how we communicate. I have been trying, but that’s not enough if you don’t see results and it’s not fair to rely on you to keep reminding me. While I don’t know how to improve outside of continuing to practice, I promise it is important to me to make an effort in this matter. As for the other issue, I think we may be talking past each other. I don’t mean to imply you are anything less than entirely capable—you’ve been hunting for as long as I have, alone, which is more than enough proof you can take care of yourself. My concern is that any hunter, regardless of their skill, can be taken by surprise. I know I wouldn’t be around now if Dean didn’t have my back, just on regular hunts. When I said it would be safer to have us along, I meant that we all would be more effective as a team than hunting solo._

_I do understand though that I can come across to you as overprotective—this is in part because I care for you and want you to be safe. It is also, I admit, due to almost everyone with whom I’ve tried to start a relationship dying or getting hurt, as well as most other people I know. Potentially I react to that by presuming the same will happen to you (may I emphasize, again) and taking actions to smother you. This is also not fair to you, but I want to be clear it is a response to my own experiences, rather than any indication that I doubt your abilities. I hope that this explains my actions adequately and does not take our prior topic of discussion, re you moving in, off of the table on a permanent basis._

Eileen knows she should react to the actual content of the message, but what she finds herself saying is, “You really were going to be a lawyer.”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “I figure it’s a better tactic than incoherently shouting out my feelings until someone snaps. Considering how often Dean and I end up fighting instead of actually working out our disagreements, I’m trying out legalese as an alternate method for maintaining a relationship.”

Sam and Dean love each other very much, but from what she’s seen of and been told about her somewhat famous boyfriend and his brother, it doesn’t seem like there’s a very high bar to have better communication than them. She appreciates that Sam’s making an effort though.

“Did I get it across? Where I’m coming from?”

Her frustration isn’t gone, but she understands Sam isn’t being malicious in his mistakes. Still…“You’re sure there’s not a part of you that thinks you need to look after the defenseless Deaf woman?”

Sam blinks. “No? I know lots of female hunters, my mom was one, why would I—shit, is that what you thought I meant?”

Yes…maybe? Eileen’s not sure. “It’s how lots of people see me,” she settles for, “so I tend to assume.”

“Well then those people are ableist, misogynistic idiots,” Sam declares, jaw tightening. “You’re incredible. You’re so smart, and you’re brave, and I bet you could hold your own against any of those prejudiced hunters if you came into the fight prepared. Our first hunt together, you were the one who knew what the monster was, how to kill it, and actually took it down! Why would…”

Sam’s voice peters out as Eileen’s grin grows. He coughs, shifting awkwardly on the small wooden circle posing as a chair. His ears are pink again.

“Please, don’t let me stop you,” she prompts. “Anything else you like about me?”

Expression shifting, Sam grins back. “Well,” he drawls, leaning forward. “I think you’re pretty hot.”

“Do you now?” Eileen pretends to think for a moment, enjoying the flush rising on her skin. The sensible part of her knows they should finish their conversation, but she likes where this could be going. “If I remember correctly, the rest of the Bunker is empty at the moment. And I happen to think you’re quite attractive yourself.”

“Are you sure?” Sam replies, seemingly caught between desire and concern. “If you’re still upset—”

“I’m tired of talking,” she interrupts, standing up from the remains of their meal. Future versions of themselves can be responsible, but that’s not what Eileen is interested in right now. “Let’s have some fun.”

Sam rises, moving around the table to meet her halfway for a long, perfect kiss. They’re going to need to discuss this more—Eileen’s not certain they ever will or should be done negotiating their boundaries with each other—but for now, she’s content to be here. A lazy morning spent in bed (or everywhere else) with the tall, handsome, considerate man she’s found to love. The world is a hard and lonely place. Eileen deserves her peace.

**Author's Note:**

> For my project I also had to write an artist's statement, explaining what I was trying to do with this fic in relation to our course and readings. If any of y'all are interested I could post that as a second chapter? Folks can talk to me either in the comments or on [ my tumblr](http://silverskyy.tumblr.com/), where as of time of posting I am experiencing a finale-induced Supernatural renaissance/meltdown. Come say hi!


End file.
